So Close, Yet So Far
by i'll-be-a-knight
Summary: Ron and Hermione don't realize how much they want the same thing.


**DISCLAIMER**: The characters, places, and things that are part of the Harry Potter universe all belong to J.K. Rowling, though should she choose to give up ownership of Ron, then I would gladly take him. This particular story, however, is mine.

* * *

_Where was he?_ Hermione wondered impatiently. She wasn't sure how much longer she was going to stay in the common room pretending to do her homework while she waited for Ron to appear. They had been out doing their prefect duties together, but when she made her way back to Gryffindor Tower she saw that he was no longer by her side. She was the only one left in the common room; even Harry had gone to bed, tired from his Occlumency lessons with Snape. She supposed she could give up the pretense of working, especially since she was alone, but she didn't want to look as if she was waiting for him, which she obviously was.

Thoughts of Ron tend to dominate her mind, even though she was so preoccupied with revisions for O.W.L.s and training with Dumbledore's Army. After a particularly tumultuous fourth year between them, she wasn't sure what to expect when she spent the summer with Ron and his family at 12 Grimmauld Place. While she had shared a room with Ginny, her days were spent with Ron, losing to him at Wizard's Chess or trying to persuade him to be more active in S.P.E.W., given that he was the club treasurer. They continued to argue, but that was the norm, and the feelings she had for him only grew stronger as the summer wore on, rather than fading away—which, quite frankly, was what she had expected to happen. She continued to wonder how he felt about her; after all, he seemed jealous enough when she had gone to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum. But ever since the Ball, Ron had given no other indication that he liked her in the romantic sense, much to her disappointment. However, there were moments when she'd catch him staring at her with an indefinable expression on his face or times when he'd stand closer to her than what is necessary; incidents like these made her hope, perhaps foolishly, that he wanted something more than just friendship.

Even as her heart pined for Ron, her brain continued to demand why she kept wasting her time on him when someone like Viktor Krum fancied her. Viktor didn't pick fights with her, he paid attention to everything she said, he was thoughtful and considerate; in theory, he was perfect for her. But the only time she yearned for perfection was in the academic realm; it wasn't a quality she sought in a boyfriend. She needed someone who would challenge her and Ron most certainly does that, given the way they constantly bickered. No one could make her laugh like he could and he made her relax as often as he got on her nerves. She doubted anyone would understand, especially since she can hardly make sense of it herself, but she would rather have someone who made her cry out of frustration than a person who bored her to tears. Ron, who delighted and infuriated her in equal measures, embodied all of these qualities.

The door to the common room swung open and Ron walked in, looking glum. It was an expression that crossed his face a little too easily for her liking. In fact, he seemed withdrawn and moody over the last several days and she wished she knew why. She hoped that what she had planned for him tonight would cheer him up.

"Where have you been?" she asked him.

He shrugged and hoped that the gesture would be enough to answer her question. He didn't feel much like talking right now, not after his encounter with Malfoy earlier that evening while they were on prefect duty.

"Well, if it isn't King Weasley," Malfoy said snidely. "Hanging out with the commoners?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Ron snapped back. "Leave me alone."

"I'm sorry, your highness." Malfoy's voice dripped with sarcasm. "I hope you don't start getting used to the royal treatment. Everyone with half a brain knows that you won out of luck, not skill."

"That's not true." But the retort didn't sound convincing, not even to his own ears.

"Are you sure about that? You were only made Keeper because your brothers are on the team and Potter is your best friend. Not exactly getting by on your own merit, if you ask me!"

"You're one to talk! Your father made sure you made it on the Slytherin team. At least I tried out, just like everyone else who wanted to be Keeper!"

Malfoy scoffed. "A mere formality. Gryffindors always have to be fair. Enjoy your glory now, because everyone will forget about you once Potter's on the team again. Then you'll be back in his shadow where you belong, just another worthless Weasley—"

Ron let his temper get the best of him and grabbed Malfoy by his school robes just as Snape passed by.

"Mr. Malfoy, Weasley, what's going on here?"

"Professor, I was just trying to do my prefect duties and he attacked me for no reason!"

"That's a lie!"

"Fifty points from Gryffindor for insolent behavior towards a fellow student and prefect," Snape announced.

"But that's not fair—"

"Fifty more points for questioning authority! Shall I keep going? Perhaps I should report this to the Headmaster so he can strip you of your prefect badge."

Ron gritted his teeth in futility as he stomped off, Malfoy's satisfied smirk planted firmly in his mind. He headed outside with no real idea of his destination and ended up heaving stones into the lake for about half an hour, much to the annoyance of the Giant Squid and Merpeople below.

Of course he knew better than to let Malfoy get to him, but at the same time, he couldn't help but let it happen, especially not when Malfoy knew which targets to hit to deliver the most effective damage. What if the stupid git was right about how he had earned his spot on the team? They wouldn't have lost so many games if he were actually any good at being the Keeper.

He also didn't need reminding that his glory was diminishing all too quickly; he, out of all people, knew that the euphoria from the improbable Quidditch Cup victory was fading fast. He can only brag about it so many times before people stopped paying attention. No one else was interested in reliving the memory except for him. Can anyone really blame him for trying to hold on to a moment that will probably never happen again? The exhilaration of winning and the popularity that came along with it were slipping faster than a fistful of sand through clenched fingers.

He was thrilled to have secured the Cup for Gryffindor, but there was a part of him that was disappointed that Harry and Hermione didn't see the match. It had been his one shining moment, perhaps the happiest he'd ever felt in his life, and his two best friends weren't there to share it with him. He had hoped that Hermione would see him in a different light after the heroic victory, even if she hadn't witnessed it. He'd never been more proud of himself and he thought that she would feel the same, that she would stop thinking of him as a loser who couldn't do anything well.

It was probably wishful thinking on his part, but he sometimes wondered if Hermione considered him as more than just her best friend. Why else did she hang out with him all summer when she could have been spending her time with Ginny, doing whatever it is that girls did when they were together? Unless Hermione loved losing at Wizard's Chess every day or getting nowhere in her attempts to persuade him to be more enthusiastic about S.P.E.W., she chose to be with him for a reason. When they weren't fretting over Harry or trying to figure out what the Order of the Phoenix were up to, they had a lot of fun. He would never admit it out loud, but even as he constantly called her a know-it-all, he enjoyed learning things from her. She made him question things that he normally took for granted due to their vastly different backgrounds. She was quite funny and there was a spark in her that he truly admired, the same spark that made her slap Malfoy, walk out of Professor Trelawney's class, and stand up to Rita Skeeter. He liked making her laugh and knowing that he could get her to stop being so bloody serious every once in a while.

But he could never tell her how he felt about her. Why bother, when a guy like Viktor Krum had her attention? Krum was famous and one of the best Quidditch players around, not to mention a Triwizard Champion. What was one unlikely victory that was most likely a fluke on his part compared to Krum's many accomplishments? No girl would choose an ordinary guy like him when there was a much better option available.

Between his dwindling fame and unrequited affection, Ron wasn't able to tell which depressed him more.

"Ron?" Her voice, and the hand she laid on his arm, snapped him out of his reverie. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" she asked uncertainly. "You can tell me—"

"There's nothing wrong."

Hermione tried not to let his dismissal bother her. "All right."

Ron noticed the roll of parchment on the table. Probably writing Krum again, he thought gloomily. "Were you waiting for me?"

"I was, actually. I was wondering if you wanted to go to the Room of Requirement and practice some spells with me."

"Hermione, you don't need the practice. You're better than everyone else."

Since her intention wasn't to actually practice spells, she had to come up with a quick yet reasonable excuse. "It doesn't hurt to put in more time and effort into perfecting defensive spells, regardless of your skill level."

Ron shrugged again. Why the hell not? He had nothing better to do except wallow in his misery. Maybe she'd Stun him enough times so that his negative feelings would be knocked out of him. "Wait here." He stepped into the boys' dormitory and retrieved Harry's invisibility cloak.

"I'm sure he won't mind," he said when he returned to the common room. "We may be prefects, but it is past nine. Just to be on the safe side..." He didn't want to tell her that he'd already lost enough points for Gryffindor that night. He draped the cloak over them.

Hermione huddled closer so that the cloak could accommodate them better. They were nearly touching, which seemed oddly more intimate, and she was near enough to feel the warmth radiating from him. She found herself wondering how he would react if she brushed at the hair that was falling on his forehead or, better yet, if she just rose up on her toes right now and kissed him.

Technically, she had kissed Ron already, right before the first match of the season against Slytherin. It had taken all of her willpower to treat it casually rather than the monumental event that it was for her. She wasn't quite sure what possessed her to do it, other than to wish him good luck and to somewhat satisfy her own need and curiosity. Kissing Ron was a daydream she indulged in often and as a person who isn't prone to daydreaming, the lapses into fantasy annoyed her somewhat. Of course the peck on the cheek didn't gratify her, even though it gave her something to think about for several days afterward.

She imagined that Ron would be nothing like Viktor. Her kiss with Viktor will always be special since it was her first. But it was Ron she yearned for and he would be the only one who could fill the need that only seemed to grow the longer she was deprived of him.

Neither of them had moved an inch and the tension was so thick it was practically tangible. There was something between them, Hermione was sure of it. But what was it, exactly? And was it worth the risk to find out? Even the mere thought of dating Ron was like playing with fire and not only because of the damage it may cause to their friendship. She simply had no idea how he felt about her and she was unsure if she could handle the rejection. At least with Viktor, his feelings were out in the open. He was safe. But she, an advocate of security, was now beginning to find it unfulfilling.

"A bit hot under here," she remarked with a nervous laugh. She couldn't possibly have sounded more moronic. Ron merely stared at her with that same unreadable expression on his face that she saw plenty of times over the summer.

"Right. We should get going," he remarked to break the awkward silence.

They clumsily edged over to the door and out into the hall. Even though they were crouched as low as possible, their shoes were still visible.

"Potter, Weasley, sneaking out again past curfew?" The Fat Lady admonished. "You'll be in trouble if Filch catches you."

"I don't know if I should be insulted or proud that she didn't consider the possibility that I could be under here," Hermione said as they headed to the Room of Requirement.

"Harry and I _do_ have a reputation."

"You sound awfully pleased with yourself."

"Why shouldn't I be? Life is more interesting when you take some risks."

"You really think so?" she murmured.

"Well, yeah. You ought to know, Hermione. You started up the D.A., you helped Sirius escape, you made the Polyjuice potion. It's not just me and Harry."

She'd been thinking of something entirely different than just breaking school rules. She only took chances when the outcome far outweighed the cost. If she risked everything with Ron, would it be helpful or harmful for either of them? No longer wishing to clutter her already foggy mind with such thoughts, she decided to change the topic. "Speaking of the D.A., I think we are all doing a good job, don't you?"

"Neville's doing great."

"So are you."

Ron denied her claim with a scoff. "You don't believe that." Most positive remarks about his academic and magical prowess were automatically disregarded since he was average, at best.

"Of course I do!" she exclaimed, irritated with the way he brushed off her compliment. Why must he continue to lack confidence in his abilities?

"I'm doing worse than Marietta Edgecombe."

"No, you aren't," Hermione insisted. "Do you really think that Harry would let you fall behind? He needs us, Ron. Not just the Army, but _us_. Besides, you're my practice partner, so I ought to know how well you're doing."

"So you admit that I truly disarmed you instead of tripping over my feet and knocking the wand out of your hand?"

"Well..."

Her hesitance, rather than annoying him, made him laugh. She giggled as well, relieved that he wasn't looking for an argument. Ron made the mistake of looking over at her and his laughter stopped abruptly.

It was quite a sensation to have one's breath taken away. Hermione, by all accounts, was a plain girl. Her bushy hair was the color of tree bark and her most remarkable feature was her brain. She was a stubborn know-it-all who cared more about the rights of house-elves than her looks. He never would have thought that she would be the girl to get his attention. But whenever she smiled, whenever she laughed, she was anything but ordinary. She may as well be a Veela, the way she affected him sometimes.

It suddenly dawned on him that he could kiss her right now. She was so close to him and they were already hunched over so that her face was just mere inches from his. There was a light in her eyes that was brought on by her laughter. Her mouth, curved into a smile, looked so inviting. Under the unexpected intimacy of the invisibility cloak, they were cut off from the rest of the world. Maybe she liked him, even just a little bit. She did kiss him before his first Quidditch match. Granted, it was just a kiss on the cheek and was most likely just a sign of friendly support, yet it was enough to give him a tiny bit of hope, foolish as it was. But even as he considered kissing her, he knew he simply couldn't compete with someone like Viktor Krum and the knowledge was enough to deter him from taking further action.

Her eyes met his and she, perhaps unconsciously, licked her lips, effectively clearing any thoughts from Ron's mind. Dazed and distracted, he ceased paying attention to where he was walking and sent one of the hallway portraits crashing to the ground.

"Ron!" Hermione hissed.

"Peeves! Is that you?" Filch's voice bellowed from a distance.

"I say!" the portrait exclaimed in a muffled yet indignant tone. "Such disrespect! I've been here a lot longer than you, whoever you are—"

"Sorry!" Ron apologized.

"Peeves!" Filch's voice was much closer now and they both heard Mrs. Norris' faint meowing.

"We don't have time for that!" Hermione exclaimed when Ron started to pick the portrait off the ground. "Let's go!"

She grabbed his hand and they took off for the Room of Requirement, running as fast as they could to the seventh floor. They reached the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and raced past it three times before the door appeared on the blank wall. Out of breath, they burst into the room, with Ron throwing off the cloak as soon as they were inside.

"Honestly, Ron," Hermione began. "If we had been caught, prefects or not—"

"I'm sorry, all right? I got distracted—"

"By what? It was just the two of us out there. What could have possibly..."

She trailed off when she realized that perhaps it was she who had distracted him. But how so? Her spirits soared at the knowledge that she could elicit some kind of reaction from him-maybe even the same effect that he had on her.

She saw that her hand was still holding his, their fingers intertwined. The simple connection felt so natural, as if their hands were meant to be joined. Her palm was overly warm and sweaty and she knew that it had nothing to do with their mad dash to the Room of Requirement. Suddenly embarrassed, she released her grip and dried her clammy hand on her jumper.

"It was nothing," Ron muttered, greatly disappointed that she had withdrawn so quickly. He saw the way she was wiping her hand as if she was trying to erase the fact that he'd ever held it. His confidence-what he had left of it—dipped dangerously low and his mood soured. "Look, why don't we just practice and—"

He stopped in mid-sentence when he spotted a small cake on one of the tables. "What's that?"

In the midst of the excitement, she had nearly forgotten her sole purpose for luring him to the Room of Requirement. "Surprise!" Hermione exclaimed cheerfully. "I know it's a bit late, but we've all been so busy with revising and the D.A. meetings that I didn't have time to set this up until now."

She supposed she could have thrown a proper party, perhaps after one of the meetings, but she wanted this to come from her alone. She felt horrible for missing the match, especially the part Ron played in helping Gryffindor win. She wanted to do something nice for him, to show him how proud she was and that she believed in him.

When Ron merely continued to look flummoxed, gazing at the cake, then at her, and back to the cake again, she mistook his silence for wariness and reassured him, "Don't worry, I didn't make it. I went to the kitchens and asked Dobby if he and the other elves can make something. 'Anything for Harry Potter's Wheezy!'" she added in a poor imitation of Dobby's voice.

Ron couldn't find the energy to muster a smile at her quip, for he was in a state of utter disbelief. Why would she give him a cake?

"Aren't you going to say anything?" she asked, frustration mounting. He was staring at her as if she'd asked him to keep Aragog as a pet. Couldn't he at least try and act happy?

"What is this for?"

"What do you mean? You won the Quidditch Cup, didn't you? Or have you forgotten that already?"

No, he definitely hadn't forgotten. But he thought she had. "Why would you do this?" He truly was baffled by the gesture.

Fed up with his questioning and lack of appreciation, Hermione exclaimed, "You can be so thick sometimes, Ronald Weasley! No, not sometimes, _all_ the time! Just forget it." Angry and close to tears, she stomped back towards the door. "I'm going to bed. You can stay here and be ungrateful. And I'm taking the cloak with me, I don't care if Filch catches you."

She snatched the cloak off the floor and was ready to leave when Ron called out, "Hermione! Hermione, wait!" He was filled with relief when she dropped the cloak and didn't move further, but she still refused to face him.

"I'm not ungrateful," Ron informed her.

Hermione laughed mockingly at his statement. "Oh, really? I suppose that was just a fine imitation of it, then!"

"What do you expect me to say?" he fired back. "Winning the bloody Cup was huge enough, now this... I didn't know—"

He jammed his hands in his pockets, annoyed that he can't seem to find the right words. Hermione had once told him that he had the emotional range of a teaspoon; right now, that teaspoon was overflowing.

"That was very eloquent, Ron," she said sarcastically.

He could feel his temper start to flare and tried to calm down. "Will you turn around?" It was ridiculous trying to have a conversation with her with her back towards him.

"I can hear you just fine from here," she replied stiffly. She was still angry with him. How many times was she going to keep reaching out to him, only for him to dismiss her attempts? He refused to accept her compliments, he never wanted to talk about what was bothering him, and now he can't even recognize what she thought was a nice gesture.

"I didn't mean to make you mad, Hermione."

She rolled her eyes. "Why do I find that hard to believe?"

He ignored her barb and continued, "I'm not a hero. I'm not used to being good at something, let alone getting recognized for it."

"Oh, really? You seemed to enjoy the attention well enough."

"That's different."

"Why?"

He didn't dare tell her that her thoughtful act meant more to him than any accolades from their schoolmates. "It just is."

_But why?_ Hermione wanted a real answer from him. Why was it different? Was it because of how he felt about her? What _were_ those feelings? Unfortunately, he didn't look like he was going to elaborate on his explanation, or lack thereof.

"I didn't think anyone cared."

The solemnity of his tone and the utter conviction behind his words melted her resolve. He really believed it. Perhaps it was the result of growing up in a loving yet large family and being constantly overlooked.

"People care, Ron." _I care._ "More than you know."

She may have chosen Viktor Krum, but the fact that she went out of her way to have this cake made for him was enough to lift Ron's sagging spirits. He walked over to where she stood and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Hermione, turn around. Please."

There was a note of determination in his voice that put her on alert. Heart pumping wildly, she faced him, unsure what to expect.

"Thank you."

She could see that he truly meant it. "You're welcome."

Ron wasn't sure what came over him; maybe it was the way she was smiling nervously up at him, or the way her surprise gesture made him feel, but he decided to use his appreciation as a vehicle to do something he'd always wanted. He placed his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up to his. He heard her sharp intake of breath and before his courage could desert him, he leaned down and kissed her, his lips just brushing the corner of her mouth. He fought the urge to move his head slightly, depriving himself of her taste, of the feel of her lips against his. He wouldn't take what she may not want to give him.

The slight contact sent shockwaves throughout her body and rendered her motionless, as if she'd been hit with a Full Body-Bind Curse. Their gazes met and held, as if they were trying to figure each other out.

Before he could give in to temptation, Ron released her and stuck his hands in his pockets. He wanted much, much more, but he knew it would be pointless to try it. Krum may as well have been in the room with them, the way the Bulgarian always seemed to undermine his confidence.

There was absolutely nothing that she wanted more than to put her arms around him and let her needs be known, to sate a hunger that only he could satisfy. But the moment was gone the instant he stepped back and created some distance; it had passed by too quickly for her to react.

She touched the spot where his lips met her skin, unknowingly mimicking his response to her kiss. Perhaps it was best that he had retreated. He had kissed her out of gratitude, a small display of affection from one friend to another. It would help to keep that in mind and not project her desires onto him.

"So do you want some cake?" he asked, even though that was the furthest thing from his mind. "I can't eat it by myself."

She had forgotten all about the cake, such was his effect on her. "Actually, I think you can. I've seen you eat. But I'd love to have some, thank you."

They walked to the table, happy that they could extend their time alone and unaware that their secret and mutual desire to be together was keeping them apart.


End file.
